Personal Mourning

After the sudden loss of my father, Tisha B'Av took on new meaning.

Once again, we were sitting on the floor, eating a mourner's meal. Bread, an egg, this time dipped in ashes. Though the whole family was there, there was almost no conversation. This was a meal eaten in solitude, each person for himself, each wrapped in his individual mourning.

This time we were mourning over the Beit Hamikdash, Jerusalem's Holy Temple, destroyed 2,000 years ago.

Two weeks previously, we had also sat on the floor. All together, all alone, an all-encompassing sadness hovering over us. It was hard -- no, impossible -- to comprehend that Daddy was gone. He was so alive, vibrant. Just the day before we had all been laughing together in the kitchen, eating ice cream cones without a care in the world, then rushing to prepare for our family weekend away. And now we were all sitting on the floor, our large family with still-small children, without him.

I found myself wandering aimlessly through the empty house, which remained irrevocably empty no matter how many people came to comfort us, searching for something, someone, no one.

For the first long while, an all-consuming pain lodged somewhere in my chest, sitting there like a solid rock, not budging. I'd never in my life been so intensely aware of anything as I was of that immoveable object. If I wanted to speak, I needed to somehow push the words over and around the boulder of pain; otherwise, there was no way for them to leave my throat. A smile was even more difficult.

So sitting on the floor two weeks after Daddy's death was easy. That's where I wanted to be anyway.

But when you come face-to-face with death, there's no longer any room for pettiness or falsity. Truth takes on a new significance, and I knew that what I was doing now was not an extension of my personal sorrow.

Though I'd eaten this pre-Tisha B'av meal every year since I could remember, that year my understanding of what I was doing went much deeper. The once esoteric laws of the month of Av took on new meaning. I could no longer kvetch about not showering as often as I wanted for the duration of the nine days or not listening to music. After all, during the mourning period for Daddy, I wouldn't even have dreamed of trying to receive a dispensation.

When we mourn a close relative, the laws of mourning have positive effect. The laws force us to live in the present though we might often choose the past. By providing firm structure, the laws help us focus our loss in a constructive manner. But these actions do not represent all that we are feeling. What we're feeling is too deep and too heavy to be manifest in simple actions. The actions are simply an overflow of our internal turmoil.

The pain that lodged in my heart after Daddy's death, that is the pain we should be feeling over our national loss.

When we mourn the Beit Hamikdash, our actions should also be an overflow of our mourning over its destruction and our longing for its rebuilding. We don't turn on the music, not because we can't, but because we don't want to. We sit on the floor and eat our meal of bread dipped in ashes because that is the only place we can sit right now, and that is all we can bring ourselves to swallow. The pain that lodged in my heart after Daddy's death, that is the pain we should be feeling over our national loss.

It's easy to view the nine days as restrictive, focusing on the many things we can't do but wish we could. It would be nice to go swimming, to tackle the laundry pile that is rapidly taking on mountainous proportions, to lighten the atmosphere at home with some lively music. But we can't, so we wait kind of anxiously for the nine days to be over so we can continue with life the way we want to live it.

But perhaps we should view these days not as restrictive, but rather as a once-a-year opportunity that we should grab and hold on to, trying to make the most of this time before it slips away as it inevitably will. When we mourn a loved one, we don't anxiously await the end of the mourning period, for the laws are in sync with our emotions and there's nowhere we would rather be. During the nine days, too, we can deepen our appreciation of our glorious past and of our immense loss. We can try to bring our emotions in sync with the laws, so that the nine days are really where we want to be right now.

When we mourn for people, the act of mourning helps us feel close to our missing loved ones, but it doesn't bring them back. When we truly mourn the Beit Hamikdash, when our loss feels to us deeper and heavier than any personal loss we have ever suffered, perhaps we will finally merit the redemption and rebuilding.

Visitor Comments: 21

(21)
Anonymous,
July 15, 2013 12:32 PM

Mourning for my Abba

I rarely come across an article that I can really relate to. I'm 16, and two months ago on may 1st I lost my father to cancer. Every word in this article is true to the fullest. The first tisha b'av is not going to be easy but it will help me to have a deeper connection with the sadness of the day. As the generations go on we slowly lose touch with the important things. Hopefully bezras Hashem the geula sheleima will come soon and there will be no more sadness. Thank you so much for writing this, for showing me that I'm not alone.

(20)
Anonymous,
December 12, 2010 2:48 PM

Dad niftar 2 mos.

Dear Readers,
I lost my dad on Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan. He was 88, so his death has to be taken in context. It was sudden, and it caught me off guard.
Dad was a friend who I could always count on. He understood me like nobody else could. I started to feel like I was loosing him when his hearing got so bad that he could no longer talk to me on the phone.
Dad loved to talk about books and abstract things. I didn't always understand what he was saying because he was a rare genius. Nevertheless, I listened just to hear his voice.
Sometimes I cry at night because I miss him. Other times, I shut down or go into a funk. My siddur is soaked with tears. It is hard for my husband and other family members to see me like this.

(19)
a Jewish girl,
July 19, 2010 10:16 PM

thank you!

thank you so much for this article! Usually when the three weeks and 9 days come around i always cringe with the oncoming of tisha bAv. thinking of the fast and no food and being hungry.your article really helped me understand that we do this not because we have to but because this is a way that we can show our mourning for our destroyed temple

(18)
anonymous,
February 22, 2010 7:57 AM

Very powerful article which made the Tisha b' Av mourning much more real and meaningful.Thank you for sharing your experiences.

(17)
anonymous,
February 22, 2010 7:57 AM

helped me to better feel and understand this period of mourning

I am an orthodox religious woman, and I usually pass through the "Nine Days" with a feeling of impatience - just to get over it already - especially now that i have B"H have kids and LOADS of laundry. While reading this article I felt ashamed, and recalled the days of mourning for my grandmother. The "Nine Days" have taken on a new meaning for me. Thank You!!!

(16)
laila percia,
August 9, 2008 6:35 PM

dear Shoshana,
My name is laila, iÂ´m from Argentina . I wanted you to know that this article came right into my heart since i lost My DADDY too 5 months ago. I understood everything you said about the seven days of Shiva and the feeling of loneliness no mater how many people might be around you. This comment is also for remembering him, the greatets man IÂ´ve ever knew , his name was Marcos and IÂ´ll always keep him in my heart.

(15)
Yisroel Yitzchak,
August 8, 2008 4:20 PM

I know the feeling...

I hope your loss shows you the beauty that existed in him and in all of us. May his loss bring you happiness instead of pain and may we merit to meet him at mashiach.

(14)
rivky,
August 2, 2008 10:33 PM

very touching article!

Dear Shashana, first of all im so sorry to hear about your father and how much pain you must be in. I truly hope you and your family find comfort and see only revealed good very quickly! Your article was very inspirational and really showed me how mourning over the Bais Hamikdashis something that should be real to all. Thank you so much and i truly hope to see you and the whole jewish nation i eretz yisroel with mashiach. May that day be soon...may that day be today!

(13)
Phyllis Satz,
June 8, 2008 11:27 AM

Thank you for such a compassionate article

First, may you be comforted with all the mourners of Zion --
Your article touched me so very deeply, not so much because of mourning that which is gone, but just as important,treasuring that which we still have. I had a really bad quarrel with my husband this morning, and both of us said some awful things to each other. He is 76 years old, I am 73 and, having been married together for better AND worse for 51 years (and still counting) we should both know better. But really, although we are both very aware of how short life can be, and how suddenly it can end, who thinks of that in the middle of an argument. Your article made me sit down and think -- G-d forbid, what if...............? In one second, all of life could change, and we''ve seen it happen among friends, and within our family. One minute here, the next minute, gone.
Long story short ------- I went in to my husband, said "I love you, and I''m sorry", and kissed him. What a joy to know I still have him with me.

Many blessings to you and your famioly and Good Yom Tov.

Phyllis Satz

(12)
annie lass,
July 30, 2007 1:30 PM

personal mourning

This gave me solace for my own mourning of my beloved Mama 2 yrs ago, it still feels so raw.

(11)
chana raizel,
July 24, 2007 9:56 PM

HAMAKOM YENACHEM

MAY G-D COMFORT YOU WITH THE MOURNERS OF ZION AND JERUSALEM AND BEAUTIFUL AND TOUCHING ARTICLE.

(10)
Anonymous,
July 23, 2007 12:41 AM

Great article, thank you.

Great post Michal.Perhaps you too should write articles

(9)
Audrey Leschinski,
July 22, 2007 8:45 PM

So beautifully and eloquently stated!

[It is] better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that [is] the end of all men; and the living will lay [it] to his heart. Evv. 7:2

(8)
Anonymous,
July 22, 2007 2:15 PM

That was a real and touching article!

Real and sincere, not too much to read, short, sharp and effective with the personal touch!Its true...having lost my father lately,one feels a loss more after having it, its much harder when we really dont realise what we are missing.

(7)
Linda,
July 22, 2007 11:52 AM

Love and Loss

I too lost my father just before Tisha B'Av, three days short of nine months after my mother died, during Chanukah. I was not surprised at the timing of these extremely pivotal events in my life. Both holidays commerate great chapters in our lives as Jews. HaShem was present at both, whether we as a Jewish people could see Him or not.

I have always commerated Tisha B'Av as best as I could, knowing that though HaShem no longer had a physical place here on earth, He was always around. So for me, the mourning of His Makom wasn't as horrific as knowing, really knowing, that He would always be there to protect us.

We can "see HaShem" handiwork everyday, all around us. There are even times I have felt his guiding arm on my back.

I wish I could say the same for my father and mother.

May HaShem spare you and your family and all the mourners of Zion, further sadness and bring you all to great simchas.

(6)
shani,
July 22, 2007 11:05 AM

thank you

Thank you for that personal and touching article. I find that the month of Av and mourning is something hard to tap into, yet when you do you can build a closer bond to Hashem, and an increasing need for the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdash. May this heartfelt need be fulfilled in our lives.

(5)
ruth housman,
July 22, 2007 7:59 AM

true mourning

Our first gods are our parents. They have a lasting impact on our lives. The metaphoric connects in this article are profound as the author lost her father and is contemplating both this sacred holiday and also that personal loss. I do believe, personally, that there are many ways to mourn and that sometimes, being passionate in life, in a period of mourning could be seen, in another perspective as a valid way of using this time with awareness of that loss and also that the beloved would have wanted us to continue to be passionate. I do believe the traditions have special meaning and I also believe that understanding and honoring that meaning gives life to the traditions associated with the Jewish way of mourning. However, those who choose a different action, are not necessarily doing it "wrong". I believe that the essence lies in the heart and not in the form. When heart and tradition mesh, as in this article, surely it is a blessing. On the other hand, I feel it is very important to never judge another person's heart and how they observe loss. Life is myriad in its possibilities and love surely, breaks all the rules. Maybe even, loss and redemption, is a part of a greater more cosmic story, repeated on individual levels, that involves us all. There are these constant "mirrors" in time.

(4)
Bill Simpson,
July 22, 2007 7:53 AM

When you Father dies............

Several years ago I came across a quote, whose author is unknown to me, that said: "When your father dies, there are no more giants upon the earth."

A reminder that all your feelings and emotions are normal and appropriate!!

God's blessings upon you!!!

(3)
Michal,
July 22, 2007 7:13 AM

I find it hard to be really sad

Dear Shoshana, I envy you, that you can mourn over a building like over a human being. I can't. Since my husband died, I know what mourning means. And compared to that I must think about people, human beings who suffered, for instance in a Concentration camp, to be able to shed tears. But a building? - I know it was the place where Hashem and His children met. And this meeting place is not there any more. But Hashem himself did not disappear. He is with us for ever, because He promised us. And when we talk with him, he is near to us. He choose the Beth Ha Mikdash as His special dwelling place on earth. Now he would like that w e are His dwelling place. What I really can be sad about, is the fact, that His nearness is never as great as I would like, because of my own lack of emunah and bitachon and not keeping the mitzvot always as I should. I mourn about the poeple of Israel, who were taken away, homeless, strangers in a strange land. Am I not a normal Jew? I hope I am. Maybe I have seen too many totally destroyed cities in world war II. Important was always that all who lived in those houses, were alive. Then they wept tears of joy. Stones can be built again. And by the way, I am looking forward to the time, when Mashiach comes and we will have a new Beth Hamikdash. And I hope that time is nearer than the time of destruction. Thank you for your article! It makes me sad, that you are all so sad. -

(2)
Rama Krishnan,
July 22, 2007 6:45 AM

Your sentiments echo in a distant land

Your sentiments on the occasion of a personal mourning for the death of your father would find an echo in our land when we observe similar rituals here in India. The mourning period is ten days and it is believed that the soul of the departed would linger over the place, unwilling to leave. We eat a spartan meal (twice a day), listen to chanting or soft music, receive visitors but saying to them and generally go over in minds all the various things that bound us together when the person was alive. We also believe that the soul will find another body and another life and start living once again in a mysterious way. Beliefs are soothing and bring about an internal harmony for which we must than our age-old traditions. What we believe may or may not have universal significance. What we observe may or may not have meaning for others. But it has meaning and significance for us because we grew up with them and we have had positive associations with them. At some distant past, maybe three or four thousand years ago, somewhere in the plains of Mesopotamia, Jewish and Hindu rituals and beliefs had a common origin. I have no historical basis for this assumption. It is just a belief. Let peace and non-violence prevail in your life. Love, Ramakrishnan